The Lion and the Saint
by Ezekiel Zeta Stigma
Summary: Year 324; a little over 3 years has passed since the defeat of Lusitania at the hands of Pars. With turmoil engulfing Yaldaboath's kingdom, those who seek to purge the Church of unrighteousness are forced to either fight or fly. Lady Ester, who once led her fellow knights back to their homeland, now leads persecuted refugees back to Pars, and the king she hopes will help them.
1. Exodus

**Pars Era, Year 324**  
 **outskirts of Ecbatana**

How in Yaldaboath's name did she not notice this kingdom's heat when she first traveled here? Ester thought to herself, using a chain-mailed sleeve to wipe her brow whilst using her other hand to keep her chestnut mare from swaying to the left or right.

"Lady Fano?" I guess I will never be rid of that name, Ester thought to herself, turning to the four-year-old boy beside her on a pack mule.

"My House is no more Chevell, I am no longer worthy of the name." The little boy, Chevell, was never one to stop talking after a single sentence, even at his early age.

"What do I call you then? Lady Ester Etoile?"

"Where did you hear that name?" she demanded after a surprised cough.

"Some of the other knights were talking about the war with Pars. The battles at Saint Emmanuel and Ecbatana." Of course they did. No doubt Chevell asked them specifically due to his birth. His mother after all, is the widow of a former captain under Count Barcacion. The captain was killed at Saint Emmanuel and his widow gave birth to Chevell when they were under the watchful eye of Arslan's army.

"I see. What do they say, apart from my other name?"

"That you saved everyone and killed the Evil Prince of Pars, Silver Face."

"Silvermask you mean," Ester corrected, "and my part in the war was quite small."

"You did rescue Innocentius VII though."

"Again, my part was small in comparison to the knights of Pars."

"Captain," the two of them looked over their shoulders at one of the lieutenants as he rode up.

"Lieutenant Bale right?" she inquired, still not being able to recall the name of every single former Lusitanian knight who accompanied them on this journey.

"Yes captain," the lieutenant confirmed before hesitating. "Er, I mean no disrespect to a superior, but is it really wise to march straight into the realm of the Heathen Lion?"

"Don't call him that," Ester answered back, maybe a little more harsher than she meant, "he may not be one of the believers of Yaldaboath, but he will guarantee our safety and, at the very least, would never enslave us nor try to convert us to the false gods of his kingdom."

"But that's just it captain. Not only is Pars a country of false-god worshipers, but a heathen kingdom that we have warred against not 3 years prior. It is beyond obvious that it isn't Lusitania, but I fail to see how Pars could be even partially safe for us." Ester eyed the young soldier. Bale seemed to be around her age, but the look in his eyes, although not the eyes of a fanatic, lacked the kind of "fire" that those who fought in the previous war have.

"Did you fight in the invasion of Pars lieutenant?"

"No captain, my older brother did unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

"He was killed by the Temple Knights when he spoke out against the burning of heathen texts." Oh, she heard about that. She couldn't be sure, but she could have sworn that Bodin himself conducted the execution. Not that it matters; after all, Bodin disappeared as his Order was utterly destroyed and was never seen again.

"Oh souls, rest in peace." Bale nodded in solemn thanks at these words. "Know this lieutenant: Pars is indeed a heathen kingdom, and the King of Pars is a heathen king; but when I last spoke to that so-called lion, he was by far the most un-kingly king that I have ever heard of. That being said, unless something has drastically changed in these past 3 years, he will not bear a grudge against those who fought a misguided war against his kingdom." This caused the lieutenant to remain silent a few moments, with little Chevell looking from one to the other.

"Un-kingly?"

"Yes," Ester reaffirmed, "so much so that he would approach us while we were captured and, without anyone to guard him, ask if there was anything he could do to help." And then she added: "Stupid pampered greenhorn prince," under her breath, causing both the lieutenant and Chevell to blink in genuine surprise at the remark.

* * *

There was 603 of them.

That is to say, more than 500 woman, children, elderly, and untrained men combined with _less than_ a hundred knights with varying degrees of skill and experience. If Captain Ester "Etoile" Fano could be picky, then she would have asked for a number of knights that amounted to at least half of the non-fighters she was now responsible for. But circumstance decided to make such luxuries unavailable to her and her fellow knights, a good number of whom had fought alongside her ever since Saint Emmanuel.

The 603 of them had gathered together and left Lusitania for one reason and one reason only; not to mention the only reason to cause hundreds, if not thousands, of devout followers of Yaldaboath to even consider leaving the land of their faith and the home of their ancestors.

The great tribulation and unrest which some are referring to as either: "The Purist Schism" or "The Unfaithful Judgement."

After the defeat of the second Holy Conquest of Pars, King Innocentius VII and the remaining soldiers and few converts returned to Lusitania. The King's Brother, Guiscard, despite his actions at Ecbatana, was given an honorable burial upon the sacred Mount Guerrier, but that was not what brought about the Schism. With astonishing assistance of Ester of then House Fano, who had been recognized for her efforts in leading defeated Lusitanians back to their homeland, Innocentius made a declaration that Lusitania would no longer seek war with other kingdoms without legitimate reasons to call arms. This enraged the Church of Yaldaboath, since it was said in the Holy Scriptures that: "all the land of the world belonged to the followers of Yaldaboath," and that the only way to get their holy inheritance would be to slay or convert heathens wherever they sought dominance over the earth. Somewhere around this point, Ester, the Shepherdess of Saint Emmanuel, pointed out that even though the Holy Scriptures indeed instruct the followers of Yaldaboath to not show weakness and to fully resist the command of heathens, the Scriptures never instructed followers to _begin wars_ for the sole purpose of conquering other kingdoms and peoples. To add further fuel to the fire, many of the knights and even two or three of the generals who returned from the war with Pars cited numerous problems with certain actions that have been taken in the name of Yaldaboath. These included: the harassment of non-Lusitanian converts to the faith, the failed promise to release the slaves of Ecbatana, the unexpected mercy of the heathen warriors of Pars under Crown Prince Arslan, the dealings with heathens (specifically Hilmes, Kharlan, Sam, and Xandes of Pars) in order to fight against other heathens, the destruction of valuable materials such as non-religious texts and scrolls of other kingdoms, and especially the unrighteous actions of the Temple Knights under Grand Inquisitor Bodin (which included the unsanctioned and whimsical murder of fellow Lusitanians). Despite the evidence presented and the piety and prestige of those present, the Church of Yaldaboath disregarded all counts of unrighteous actions and threatened to excommunicate the royal family and the ever-effete Innocentius backed down and retracted his declaration. But instead of just backing off, General Montferrat and Ester pledged to, for lack of better words at the time, purify the Church in the name of Yaldaboath.

Understandably, the Church itself did not take to well to a mass of war-worn knights deciding to reform them from the outside-in, so they did the only reasonable course of action and sent the un-bloodied Temple Knights to subdue the "rebellious and misguided knights" who no doubt were affected by their unfortunate defeat at the hands of a young heathen prince. In all honesty they would have succeeded in this en devour, if not for the attempted assassination of General Montferrat. Montferrat was a man of strange tastes, often going out of his way to order mis-matched portions of different delicacies and beverages whenever he was able. As such, upon retiring to his estate after a long day of urging a peaceful inquiry amongst the priests and bishops of the Church, he requested a simple meal of bread and salad to be washed down by a mixture of ale, wine, and mead in equal portions. But before he took a sip, he noticed that the drink he so ordered had turned to a dark violet tint. He simply requested another glass from the understandably confused servants. But as soon as he sat down and took a bite out of the bread, his drink had turned color again. This time, he made the drink himself, sat down, and raised the glass to his lips before recoiling in shock and throwing his arms around in anger as he noticed a robed and gloved hand attempting to pour the contents of a vial into his cup. He grabbed the arm and attempted to throw the accoster against his dining room table, only to find that his attempted killer was actually intruding upon his estate via a vaporal black hole in the stone wall of his house. The assassin then tried to grab Montferrat's throat before getting hit over the head with a candlestick thrown by a servant who had just happened to walk in bearing that morning's laundry. The would-be assassin then howled in pain and vanished, the wall returning to normal as he disappeared. And back at the holy center of the Lusitanian capital, Ester and some accompanying knights were discussing a possible course of action to petition the Church when they all saw a flurry of priests hurry down an adjoining corridor supporting another priest who stumbled along, a vicious gash upon his forehead, whilst complaining loudly about: a damn nuisance who threw a candlestick at him.

It didn't take much to figure out what was going on once Montferrat and Ester shared accounts.

The purist knights and Montferrat's personal guard either readied defenses in their respected keeps and strongholds or strategically scattered about Lusitania. The Temple Knights, upon discovering the war-ready purists preparing to defend themselves or seeking to spread news of the attempted assassination of General Montferrat, either set up camps within range of the Purist castles or began hunting down the Purist "heretics" wherever they could be found. The latter having a more profound and immediate effect. Despite orders to the contrary, one of the Temple Knight armies laid siege to a town of "Purist Rebels" after witnessing some of Montferrat's men enter. It was actually servants of a different general who beard a similar coat-of-arms. But regardless of the circumstances, the beseigement of a town by the zealous knights pledged to both the Church and Yaldaboath himself was the final straw for Montferrat.

He led what forces he had available to the town and successfully broke the siege. Realizing that nothing could be done to reverse the current order of events, Montferrat set his own castle aflame and then marched north where he had allies with whom he would be able to put up a decent defense against the Temple Knights.

Ester and the other Purist knights would've joined him if not for yet another sudden turn of events.

Feed up with the audacity of his previous declaration, the Church of Yaldaboath invoked the Spiritual Excommunication of Innocentius VII. Facing pressure from all sides, Innocentius formally abdicated a day later and passed the throne on to his uncle, soon to be anointed Leonardo X, King of Lusitania. Unfortunately for Ester and her companions, King Leonardo immediately began drafting an edict to declare all Purists as political agitators and heretical rebels. Ester and her fellow knights, once they received word from a sympathetic cleric, left the capital in as soon as night fell and began to head south in a hopeful attempt to divide or draw the Church's forces forces away from Montferrat's northern march. But as they fled, Ester and her comrades met many who were either fellow Purists, victims of the Temple Knights, or families of soldiers who fought in the war against Pars and were considered "less than reliable" for pointing out the lack of perceived barbarity from the heathens of Pars. Quickly gaining a following of 200, then 300 a mere day later, Ester realized that they couldn't just march back north at the risk of getting attacked by the nondiscriminatory Temple Knights. So, after conferring with the other knights that were with her, most of whom had fought in the war against Pars, they decided to proceed south to Pars itself. As their numbers grew to 600, Ester, whom the other knights differed to since she led them back to Lusitania in the first place, sent ahead four scouts down three separate paths. The roads in question were rarely traveled, and were actually used by Lusitania at the advise of Silvermask at the beginning of the second invasion. The scouts also carried letters from Ester, who described the current situation without telling which path they were going to actually take and addressed them to Arslan of Pars, under instructions to ride ahead to Ecbatana and deliver the messages. The two scouts who rode up the same path returned a day later with the news that warriors of Pars were actually sealing up that specific path. And so Ester thanked them and sent them back toward Ecbatana down the path that everyone else was traveling down.

That was four long and arduous days ago.

And while the landscape did seem familiar to her, Ester truly did not know the exact path to Ecbatana, only that the general direction was southeast.

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the crest of her mount's head while grabbing a wine skin bag from the side of her saddle in order to take a quick swig.

Food and drink was actually not that big of a problem, yet. The last fifty-or-so Purists to join the flock of people also brought along much of their harvest along with them. Distributed among 600 people, they had enough to last another three days or so. The heat was certainly stronger than Ester remembered, but it wasn't blistering hot and the mountains and various clusters of trees provided the necessary shade for the weary when they needed to rest. They haven't encountered any soldiers or villagers of Pars or even bandits or traveling merchants. This was somewhat disappointing since Ester could've asked any of them for directions to Ecbatana and wouldn't have to continually lie about remembering how to get there. But what about those messengers that she sent ahead? One of them would've found the way to the capital of Pars by now right?

"Lady Ester?" She abruptly sat up straight and looked to her lower left. It was Chevell again.

"How is your mother Chevell?"

"She is helping to pass out the bread," he explained, then quickly asked, "what did you mean by the King of Pars being not kingly?"

"Well..." how in the name of Yaldaboath was she going to be able to explain it to a young boy like Chevell? "I guess it's because he does things that most would not expect a king to do, especially a heathen king."

"What did he do that was different?"

"Well, he didn't kill us for one. His forces won the Battle of Saint Emmanuel and retook their capital from us. As the victor of those battles, he had more than enough reason to kill us. But instead, he had his army take away our weapons and sent us back to Ecbatana after tending to our wounded."

"Isn't that what he was supposed to do though?" Ester sighed.

"The world isn't always...nice Chevell. There is evil in the world, but also fear and strife. Before I met Arslan, I had always thought that everything we did was for the benefit of our faith in Yaldaboath. At the time, heathens really were heathens; the barbarians who waged war on everyone, made sacrifices to false gods, and enslaved the weak to work for the strong. When I came to Ecbatana during the first invasion, I saw the endless multitude of slaves that Pars had in their service and my friends were all killed simply because they refused to be slaves. But Arslan was unlike any heathen I ever met. His closest companions, the lords who served under him, and even his enemies who betrayed Ecbatana to us at the beginning of the war all knew him as a kind-hearted prince despite all of Lusitania describing him as a monster with horns upon his head. When his army won, he buried the dead and gave funeral rites for both sides, Lusitanian and Pars. Not to mention he would just wander around camp without a guard and even offer assistance to his prisoners."

"What's wrong with that?"

"He was the crown prince! Kings and princes are not supposed to intermingle with low borne enemy prisoners! He could've gotten himself killed for Heaven's sake!"

"Why? Were you planning to kill him?"

"Well no; but that isn't the point! The point is-"

"Chevell!" The two of them jumped in their saddles as a woman with untidy brown hair tied back in a loose pony tail briskly strode up to them and directed furrowed eyebrows at Chevell, her hands upon her hips, causing her garments to crease around her midriff. "How many times have I told you?"

"Uh...but, I finished," her son answered, sounding somewhere between scared and bewildered.

"Yes, you finished helping with the food; but you still didn't ask me if you could just wander off!" She then turned to Ester and inclined her head. "I apologize if he's been a bother to you Lady Ester."

"No, not at all," said Ester with a dismissive wave of her hand, "hardly anyone has spoken to me all day. It is just unfortunate that the conversation doesn't allow for faster travel."

"We'll make it," Chevell's mother said in a soothing tone, "we have already come this far have we not?"

"True," Ester confirmed, although glumly looking at the steady slope that they were now walking up, "but we still don't know what will happen once we get to Ecbatana." And then added under her dismal breath, "if we get there."

"What is that?" Chevell abruptly asked.

"The city where we are headed, once we finally get there."

"No, that." Ester then noticed that Chevell was pointing straight up. She looked up and saw a great hawk, steel gray feathers with black markings bordering its wings as it circled overhead. Was that? Half-thinking that she was bound to make a fool of herself, she raised her mailed forearm, leveling it so that it formed a flat line from her elbow to her fist. After several moments, the bird of prey swiftly descended and alighted upon her outstretched arm. The hawk then fixed a bronze-colored eye on her, as though expecting to receive something as reward.

"Um...hello?" The hawk cocked its head to one side, allowing its second eye to view her as well. This bird looked rather...old to Ester; its wings were still fully feathered and smooth, but the dark grey was speckled with flecks of snow white. A whistle then sounded on the wind and the hawk jostled a bit before launching back into the air, climbing toward the horizon in front them and passing over two knights who were riding ahead before diving out of sight behind the mountains to their right.

"That bird," Chevell's mother wondered aloud, "didn't Prince Arslan have one like that with him?"

"He did," Ester replied, but then slouched in her saddle, "but it could have been anyone's hunting hawk."

"Captain!" Ester straightened up again as the two riders who were ahead of them halted their mounts on the crest of the hill. "Up here! Come and see!" She urged her mare forward, cantering the short distance to meet them, before seeing what was on the other side of the hill, centered in a large plain surrounded by mountains miles beyond. She didn't need an explanation of any sort.

"At last," she breathed, relief flooding her voice, "we made it. We made it!" The two knights rode back to report the good news as Chevell loped his mule beside her with his mother quickly striding to catch up.

"What is it?" In reply, Ester pointed forward, and both of them saw the sand-colored walls and rising citadel of Ecbatana, the royal capital of Pars.

"That, is Ecbatana Chevell. We finally arrived!"

["Spirit of the Wild" (Age of Wonders / BrunuhVille) - PLAY]

She then heard a drawn out screech above them and looked to see the same hawk a good distance away, alighting on the arm of young man seated on a white stallion. His hair was still snowy blonde, if not white, and dropped around his neck. And wearing purple tunic that dropped past his knees and a white cape along with brown boots and white trouser legs, the only thing that looked different about him was the sword on his hip and the silver crown that glinted about his head. He looked toward the crest of the hill, his blue eyes bright and apparent, even at this distance. He squinted at them for a moment, before his eyes widened with recognition. He threw his arm out, giving the hawk an extra push into the air, and reared his stallion before having it take off at a full gallop, straight down the mountainside toward the plains in front of the downward slope of the hill.

["Spirit of the Wild" - 0:38]

Ester set her horse on a fast gallop, descending the gentle sloping hill onto the plains below. The two of them both ended up riding in circles around each other as their mounts were slow to stop as each drew close to the other.

"Etoile!" Arslan announced with more energy than Ester could muster, "it's so good to see you! You really did return!"

"Arslan," she breathed, feeling out of breath even though her horse did all the running, "how long, have you been waiting for us to arrive?"

"Not at all, I was just out here when Azreal found you," gesturing to the hawk that was still spiraling above their heads.

" _Just out here,_ " she repeated to herself, "you mean to say that you've been riding around outside the city _without_ anyone to guard you?"

"Yes, am I not supposed to?" By Yaldaboath, he hasn't changed at all. She leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder before then pressing her head against the same hand and starting to feel tears pour down her face. "Etoile, I mean, Ester, are you alright? Is something wrong?"

"No," she said, the events that led up to their migration to Pars still prominent in the back of her mind, "not now. I'm also glad to see you again, Arslan."


	2. Welcome to Ecbatana

_"Etoile!" Arslan announced with more energy than Ester could muster, "it's so good to see you! You really did return!"_

 _"Arslan," she breathed, feeling out of breath even though her horse did all the running, "how long, have you been waiting for us to arrive?"_

 _"Not at all, I was just out here when Azreal found you," gesturing to the hawk that was still spiraling above their heads._

 _"Just out here," she repeated to herself, "you mean to say that you've been riding around outside the city without anyone to guard you?"_

 _"Yes, am I not supposed to?" By Yaldaboath, he hasn't changed at all. She leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder before then pressing her head against the same hand and starting to feel tears pour down her face. "Etoile, are you alright? Is something wrong?"_

 _"No," she said, the events that led up to their migration to Pars still prominent in the back of her mind, "not now. I'm also glad to see you again, Arslan."_

Ester had privately complained about the heat on their long journey, but the warmth that passed through her hand onto the top of her face was comforting for whatever reason. She then felt a hand on her shoulder and remembered that she was resting her head against Arslan's. She raised her head and straightened herself.

"So...how is Lusitania?" Huh?

"Didn't you read my message?"

"No," uh-oh, "what message?" This could be a problem.

"Your majesty!" Arslan looked over his shoulder to see who called across the plain. A group of armored riders approaching from the city, and a man in all black armor leading the four others. He turned back to Ester, a new, more serious look in his eyes.

"Wait here, its Dayrun and the royal guards. I'll be back shortly." She nodded in understanding as Arslan turned his mount around and rode to meet the guards. She remained there, watching the once greenhorn prince at a distance. No doubt he was going to be chewed out for being outside the capital without an escort. But to her surprise, the man in black move his arms as one would in explaining something and Arslan listened.

"Are we in trouble captain?" it was Bale again, having ridden up alongside her when Arslan moved away.

"I don't think so," she replied, casting a nervous gaze over the Purists slowly walking over the crest of the hill, "Arslan didn't receive word that we were coming."

"None at all?" asked another knight, "as in, none of the scouts made it?" Bale then waved the other knight away.

"Let us back up a bit, that Parsian is coming back." The both of them retreated back to where she noticed some of the Purists, including Chevell and his mother, were holding back; a good several yards. Arslan rode up, the man in all black, save for a lack of helm, by his side atop a massive night black steed. Arslan then gave a little chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well...we did receive your message...actually."

"Oh good," Ester said in relief, "who was the scout that delivered it?"

"Well...we didn't receive it by messenger...it turns out."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Our Grand Vizier, Lucian," explained the Parsian knight in black, "received a bird message from one of our border forts. The men there captured a Lusitanian scout who had a message with him. They couldn't read it, so they copied it down and sent the copy to Lucian. He, in turn, recognized the Lusitania letters, and sought out our satruyp, who quickly translated it." Well...at least they know that they aren't invading them.

"So...how many of you are there?" asked Arslan, looking past her at the ever-growing flood of Purists.

"603." Arslan was still for a moment, before turning to the knight.

"Can we help them all?"

"Most likely," the knight answered with a non-commital nod, "many of the former slaves left once their freedom was attained. So there should be more than enough housing. But the bigger issue would be that they are all Lusitanian."

"I know." Arslan crossed his arms, frowning in thought. It really was unfortunate that her message was relied by means other than the scouts. Nevermind the fact that the message arrived _after_ they did on the outskirts of Ecbatana. "We'll be alright." Huh?

"Your majesty?" Arslan made a rather goofy smile at the knight.

"What sort of people would we be if we don't accept our former enemies? Besides," he added as the knight was about to object, "would it be that shocking to the people of Pars if they see me alongside 600 refugees?" The knight in black scoffed.

"No, they most certainly wouldn't."

Arslan then tugged at his horse's reins, urging it forward till he was in the midst of the Purists that have now covered the higher slope of the hill. Ester saw a lot of the Lusitanians shifting nervously, mostly the non-soldiers. Arslan then brought his mount around so that he was presenting as much as himself as possible and keeping the head of his stallion out of the way of his audience's perspective.

"People of Lusitania," he announced, his voice loud and clear but with a remnant of that happy-go-lucky tone he always seemed to speak with, "I know you have traveled long and far. Please know, that whatever reasons gave you cause to leave your homeland, such reasons will not find you here." The young king then inclined his head and placed an open hand upon his chest. "I am Arslan, King of Pars, and I bid you all," he threw back an arm in a wide open gesture to the capital behind him, "welcome to Ecbatana."

* * *

She honestly didn't know what to expect, but it most certainly not this.

When more Parsian guards came outside the city walls to look over the huge flock of Lusitanians, Ester and nine of her most senior fellow knights followed Arslan through the gates and into the city where they had battled no more than three years prior. They were greeted, first by the cautious glare of the guards atop the city gate, then confused stares from the peasant folk, and finally by friendly waves and shouts.

"Look! Behind our young king," she heard, "that Lusitanian is a woman!"

"It's her, I remember!"

"The one who led the Lusitanians back to whence they came?"

"Yes! The girl-knight!"

"The Maiden of Saint Emmanuel has returned!"

"Why is she here?"

"Is another war about to happen?"

"Is she the Maiden of Saint Emmanuel?" _Maiden of Saint Emmanuel?_ Why were they calling her that? Yes, she fought there only to be captured by Arslan's forces, but it wasn't like she did anything. But regardless, the people of Ecbatana appeared to be mostly friendly, most of the passers-by stopping to wave or look on as they went about their business. At one point, Ester felt something tug on her horse's reins and looked down to see a young woman wearing a headscarf who had walked in between the other knights and was presenting her with a pair of flowers with simple white petals.

"Bela Yasmeen," the girl said.

"Um...thank you?" she said after gingerly taking the flowers in question. The Parsian girl quickly bowed her head with the hint of a smile and walked back into the crowd. Ester raised the flower to her nose and gently breathed in the scent. It was quite pleasant, it kind of reminded her of the Jasmine that her adopted mother would grow in the small garden of the Fano estate.

I wonder how they are faring, Ester wondered, their one and only heir was now a rebel and arriving in the capital of a heathen kingdom.

The creaking of another set of heavy gates brought her back from her momentary stupor and she quickly placed the flower through some of the hoops in her lowered chain coif. They reached the outer courtyard and all dismounted. The Parsian knight in black came forward and bowed his head.

"Please come with me, the king and the other Hawks will meet you in the throne room." Hawks? Has Arslan taken up falconry since she returned to Lusitania? Regardless, Ester nodded in understanding and bid the other knights to follow.

The inside of the palace was still open with sand-colored walls, with the exception for segments of red curtains and golden tapestries. As they neared the throne room, Ester at last noticed something different; specifically three somethings. Three paintings, each four feet wide and twice as high displayed on the wall, bordered with golden bronze frames. The first was of a dark skinned man with emerald eyes before a lush jungle scene, crouching with a curved dagger at the ready. This one (as with the others) was labeled with a golden plaque below the portrait right below eye-level: Jaswant the Panther. The second they passed was of young man with brown hair bearing a short sword and a torch before some ruined buildings, chains littering the floor at his feet. With a shock, Ester actually recognized this boy as the warrior whom she stabbed when attempting to kill Arslan outside of Saint Emmanuel. This portrait's plaque read: Elam the Chain Breaker. Appropriate in hindsight, since Elam was the one who led the slaves of Ecbatana against Guiscard's forces. And the last painting before arriving at the throne room had two subjects. A man and a younger woman in battle in the rocky mountains, she recognized these two as well, although she failed to place their names. The man was, if memory served, Arslan's strategist and the girl was that red-headed tribal girl that claimed to be the man's "lover" and all things. The name bestowed upon this piece was given a far more simple a name: The Light and the Flame.

The knight in black pushed open the double doors to the throne room and strode in ahead of them. The throne room itself was more or less the same, only now a banner depicting the silhouette of a white bird soaring up upon a blue pattern background was hanging behind the throne itself. Seated on the throne was Arslan, his previous cloak was exchanged for an actual cloak; all snowy white, save for the golden cloth over his shoulders. He had obviously just sat down, with that hawk still clinging to his arm no less.

"Ah...forgive me," the young king said aloud, holding his arm out as two guards came over with a rout-iron hawk's perch and placed it beside the throne. Arslan held his arm out and the hawk hopped onto the bar, shuffling its wings and letting out a gentle cawing as Arslan settled into the seat of power. "It has been ages since I was hawking, at least Azrael was able to spread his wings. Please," he made a welcoming and friendly gesture, "take a seat."

"No," Ester said firmly, "not until I know that my people won't be harmed while we are here." Her knights, the palace guards, and other Parsians all looked shocked at her proclamation. Arslan however, after raising his eyebrows in surprise, just smiled and inclined his head.

"You have my word, your people will not come onto harm while I am king." Why did his words sound so reassuring? Ester bowed her head.

"Thank you," then, not seeing any tables and chairs, sat down on the ground with crossed legs. The knights and everyone else eventually followed suit. On either side of Arslan's throne sat an arrangement of familiar and unknown for her. It all came flooding back, if only the recollection of their faces. The knight in black removed his helmet and she realized that he was Dayrun, how she didn't recognize him before; he took a seat on Arslan's left, in the perfect position to draw his sword and strike at whoever would attempt an attack on his king's life. Also on Arslan's left was a man with a mane grey hair and the voluptuous woman with long flowing black hair who was...Faranas? All that she could remember was that she was both a priestess and an archer who offered kind consoling and advise. And on the other side of the throne was a more finer-dressed Elam and that roguish man with dark red hair and a Parsian mandolin. But apparently, not everyone was present.

"Where is Narsus?" Arslan asked.

"He's on his way here," answered Elam, "he was checking in on Alfreed when I left."

"Is she alright?"

"I'm not sure, she usually gets up before the rest of us, but today seems to be an exception." Arslan nodded at this before focusing his attention back on the Lusitanians. Ester actually flinched; Arslan's deep blue eyes were still wide and kind, but for a brief moment it had felt as though his gaze had somehow pierced straight through to her heart and then some. But why, she had nothing to fear from him. He's still that greenhorn prince who would openly walk amongst his prisoners after all.

"So...what happened in Lusitania?" She met his gaze and was surprised yet again. His face had adopted a solemn look, his eyes emanating something akin to sadness. There's no way he could've known about the Schism, but it seemed to her that he was expecting something of a similar nature. And so, she explained...


End file.
